


Never Again Shall We Submit

by Braincoins



Series: Dragon Age: Schism [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: AU, Animal Abuse, F/M, Finally the politics promised in the tags of the last fic, I know you were all desperately waiting for that, but revenge for it later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27417442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Braincoins/pseuds/Braincoins
Summary: First Warden Ademar has come all the way from Weisshaupt Fortress, intending to find out how the only two Wardens in Ferelden survived slaying an Archdemon... something neither Alistair nor Kivral want to discuss.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Mahariel (Dragon Age)
Series: Dragon Age: Schism [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1152344
Kudos: 4





	Never Again Shall We Submit

**Author's Note:**

> No beta but I did do a lot of editing? Hopefully that helps.
> 
> As a reminder: Justice has departed, allowing Kristoff's wife to give her husband a proper pyre. And the mabari is named Sekh.
> 
> This is where things _really_ start swinging into AU territory...  
> ======================================

She was pacing in her chambers. _This isn’t going to go well._ What was she supposed to say to them when they showed up? Because they _were_ going to ask. They’d be idiots not to.

The First Warden himself was coming to Vigil’s Keep, and Kivral could feel her stomach twist.

Aside from the question of her continued survival, there was the First Warden’s likely interest in the position of power that came with a Grey Warden being the Arlessa of Amaranthine. Then combine that with the fact that, aside from Duncan and Riordan, this was the most senior member of the Order she’d ever met. This was, in fact, the only person who could override her.

She hadn’t wanted power and command, but she’d had them for a little while now. Deferring to Queen Anora was one thing; in her role as arlessa, the queen was her superior, of course, but Kivral always considered herself a Grey Warden first and foremost. Anora seemed to think the same of her. On that ground, she and Anora regarded each other as near equals.

She didn’t like the way the First Warden was embroiled in the politics of the Anderfels, and she wasn’t about to step into Ferelden politics on the same level. Fortunately, right now, no one expected more of her than administrating the province of Amaranthine. At least, no one in Ferelden. They were still rebuilding Vigil’s Keep, after all!

_The First Warden is going to show up, tell me I’m doing everything wrong, force march me into meddling in Ferelden politics, and then demand I tell him about how I’m alive. Ugh, I wasn’t this nervous going into battle against the Archdemon!_

And then something horrible occurred to her. She ran to find Alistair.

He was working on the reconstruction when someone literally grabbed hold of him and yanked. It was surprise more than strength that actually got him pulled away from what he was working on. “Oh, Kiv!” That explained it.

“I need to talk to you about the First Warden’s visit,” she said. Her eyes were huge.

“Of course. What is it?”

“ _NOT._ Here,” she hissed.

“Oh.” He could make a pretty good guess as to what that meant, and, truth be told, he’d been worrying about this, too. “Where should we…?”

“Come with me.” She grabbed his wrist and hauled. He let himself be pulled along. It wouldn’t take much to resist her: he was stronger than she was even before taking into account the differences between humans and elves. But telling her “no” had never been one of his strong suits.

“Where are we going?”

“Our room.”

“You know what everyone’s going to think about that,” he said.

“Good. Let them think I had a sudden attack of longing and desire instead of panic and anxiety.”

He sighed. “And let them tease _me_ about it mercilessly for the next three days.”

“I appreciate your sacrifice.”

“Well, if I’m going to suffer…” He dug his heels in and pulled back.

She jerked back towards him and into his arms.

“Alistair!” she gasped.

He picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder before strolling towards the stairs.

She was laughing now. “Well, I suppose I can’t yell at you for this, can I?” But she still sounded a little …off.

“Nope!” he declared. He was happy to do anything that put off the unpleasant discussion a bit longer. He waved at Nate as they passed by and watched the man roll his eyes.

“So, question?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Why do they only tease _you_? Aside from Oghren, no one says a thing to me.”

“Of course not; you’re _you_. You’re the Commander and the Arlessa; no one’s going to say a word about you deciding to enjoy your plaything.”

“You’re _not_ my plaything.” She sounded annoyed. More than that: this was that particular flavor of ‘annoyed’ he’d heard over and over through the Blight. The “I will not let this stand,” annoyance.

“I’m just saying what it looks like.”

She huffed. “We have to do something about that.” _I knew it._ “After the First Warden’s visit.”

They arrived at their room. He dumped her onto the bed because it was the fastest way to get her off his shoulder; then he turned and closed the door. “So. You’re worried about what I’m worried about, I take it?”

She sat up, folding her legs in front of her and nodding. “I’m worried about _a lot_ of things regarding the First Warden’s visit. But I am especially worried about… _that._ You joked once about what you’d say if asked, but…”

“I’m not actually going to say that!” he yelped. “By the Maker, that… that would _not_ go over well.”

“No, no, I know you won’t. But what _will_ you say?”

He huffed. “Yeah, that’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?” He was quiet a moment then looked at her. “What do you think?”

She shook her head. “This should be your decision, not mine. I already took too much of your choice away from you once. I won’t do it again. Whatever you decide to say, I’ll back you.”

He whimpered. “ _I_ have to decide? But I don’t want to! I like just doing what you tell me to do!”

“This… this is too personal, Alistair. I asked so, _so_ much of you in doing that.”

He sat on the bed next to her and frowned thoughtfully. “Honestly? I just… I just pretend it never happened. It was hard enough to go through with in the first place. If it were up to me, it’d never be mentioned again. I just like to focus on the fact that we’re both still alive and together.”

She exhaled and flopped backwards onto the bed to stare up at the ceiling. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll think of something.”

He twisted around so he could still see her face. “How much longer until the First Warden’s arrival?”

“Tomorrow.”

He winced but tried to reassure her. “It’ll be fine.”

She rolled her head towards him. “Have you met him before?”

“First Warden Ademar? No. I’ve never been to Weisshaupt, and this is the first time I’ve ever heard of him leaving the Anderfels. Duncan mentioned him once, in passing, but it was literally just a mention of ‘the First Warden’. That’s it.”

“Ugh. Why _now_? Everything was going so well.”

“Maybe he’s just here to congratulate you? I mean, a Blight stopped in its tracks, a darkspawn uprising quelled, a town defended! You’re the Hero of Ferelden!”

“Like he gives a halla’s sparkling ass about Ferelden,” she muttered, turning her gaze back to the ceiling.

He laid down next to her. “You’re doing a good job. There’s nothing he can criticize you on.”

“Thank you, ma vhenan, but you might be biased.”

“Very biased, but it’s still true.” He leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Just remember Duncan would be proud of you.”

She exhaled. “I hope so.” She rolled in towards him. “I know the rest of the keep will tease you about us screwing, but can you just hold me for a bit? I just want to close my eyes and not think about anything worse than how bad you smell.”

“Hey!” But he draped an arm over her anyway. “I’ve been working on the reconstruction all day!”

“And I appreciate that. Doesn’t change the stink,” she replied amiably, snuggling in against his chest despite her protestations.

He kissed the top of her head and held her silently after that. He stayed until she fell asleep, then gently picked her up to tuck her into bed. It was the middle of the afternoon, but she needed the rest. He headed out, back towards the reconstruction where he would, no doubt, have to ignore everyone’s pointed questions about how soon she’d let him loose again.

Honestly, it did bother him to be thought of as nothing more than a bed-warmer, even though he knew it wasn’t true. He would never have given himself to her if he’d thought that was all there was between them. He would never have allowed himself to be nothing but a convenience…

Aside from that one time.

That one time that he never thought about because it haunted him. It felt like she’d taken part of his soul that night, and who knew? Maybe she had, the damnable witch. If he had the choice to make all over again, he’d still do it. It was worth it, to be here, now, with the woman he loved. It was a heavy price to have been paid, but he was a Grey Warden. Heavy prices came with the snazzy uniforms and honor and glory and all that.

It made everyone’s teasing assumptions sting that much more though. Kivral was nothing like that heartless witch. They truly loved each other! It’s just that marriage was… complicated, in their situation. And he couldn’t explain that without bringing up even more unpleasantness.

The nobles knew, of course. Many of them had been at the Landsmeet, or else reported to those who had been. They seemed to ignore him, as if to acknowledge him even long enough to say hello would have been tantamount to treason. But that was fine; he hated politics anyway. And if no one else knew his true surname and all the trouble it had brought him, that was more than fine by him.

_Maker, give me strength to get through the First Warden’s visit._ _Give her strength as well. She won’t ask You for it, but she needs it all the same._

There was a bark behind him. He turned and smiled at Sekh, reaching out to scritch the mabari’s ears. “Keep it down; she needs the sleep. You wanna help me rebuild the southeast corner?”

Sekh shook his head, letting his ears flop a bit.

“Yeah, I figured. Still, it’s nice of you to say hi.”

Sekh barked happily at him again and trotted off. And from the direction he’d come, Alistair heard a loud gasp of outrage. “What happened to Ser Pounce-a-lot’s bed?!” Anders shrieked.

Alistair bolted for the door. He didn’t know, but he could guess. Sekh had done him the courtesy of saying hi; he wasn’t about to tattle on a friend.

The First Warden was early. Or, rather, he was amazingly prompt. However you classified it, Garevel practically slammed the door open and woke them with a hurried, “Apologies, Commander, but the First Warden’s almost here,” that morning.

She groaned and swore under her breath and started kicking at the tangled covers, not really caring that Garevel was still there. He shut the door quickly, but, once freed, she just stood and went to the washbasin.

“Already?” Alistair grunted from their bed.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she washed up.

“‘s not your fault,” he grumbled. Behind her, there was the sound of the bedclothes rustling.

“I meant for keeping you up so late last night,” she said before plunging her face into the handfuls of water she’d scooped up from the basin. Because she _had_ kept them up late last night, desperately running away from what tomorrow would bring by focusing on the happiness they could have with each other in the here and now. _But, in a way, isn’t that what I always do? Don’t think about the Calling, don’t think about the Deep Roads, just focus on today and what has to – and can be – done now._

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her from behind. She sighed in relief and leaned back against him. There was something comforting about having a lover so much larger than she was, who could wrap her up almost entirely and act as a bulwark against the real world.

“I love you,” she said in the common tongue this time. She usually preferred her own language when she was being an emotional sap.

“And I you, ma vhenan,” he replied. His Elvish was thickly accented, but she loved hearing him use it anyway. He only did so in private, mostly to keep Velanna from shrieking in outrage, but also because he knew that it wasn’t truly a language he had claim to. He spoke it only for her.

“I’m going to get dressed,” she said.

“What are you wearing?” he asked, letting go of her. She already missed his warmth.

“Uniform,” she replied curtly, “as befitting the reception of a superior officer.”

He shook his head as he pulled on pants. “He’s also…”

“I don’t care what position he holds in the Anderfels, or what position I hold here in Ferelden. I am the Warden-Commander of this nation and he is the First Warden. As far as I’m concerned, that’s what’s important.” _Let’s not pretend that I will even entertain his political ambitions._

Alistair was pointedly holding his tongue. He tugged on the bellpull for a servant, and a bell rang… somewhere in the keep. It was hard to tell where.

She got her own pants on, then brassiere and shirt. A faint scraping sound came from behind the tapestry – the one depicting the Battle of Ayesleigh – and a servant woman ducked out into the room. Kivral asked her for assistance with Alistair’s armor. The servant nodded and disappeared behind the tapestry again. That would, of course, spread all the word she needed.

By the time Kivral made it downstairs, what few Wardens were up and about – Anders, Nate, and Velanna – were already in uniform, browsing the breakfast offerings. Even Ser Pounce-a-lot had a blue ribbon around his neck.

“I had hoped,” Nate said, “that you wouldn’t stand on ceremony.”

“He’s the First Warden,” she informed him. “I’m just not standing on the ceremony he’ll want. And, spread the word: better to be silent than say the wrong thing. Take Velanna’s excellent example.”

Of course, Velanna said nothing in reply, just took her plate to her seat – next to Nathaniel – and started eating.

“Garevel,” Kivral said without looking around for him.

He was, of course, within earshot regardless. “Yes, Commander?” He might normally have said “m’lady” or “Arlessa;” he’d picked up the idea already.

“How long have we got?”

“I had scouts posted in Amaranthine and along the main road,” he told her. “So we’ve got another hour, perhaps. Depends on how much of a hurry he’s in.”

“Make sure everyone who’s _not_ a Warden is working as normal today. I’m not stopping the reconstruction just because we have a visitor.”

“Aye.”

“Let’s see… uniforms, rooms, baths, what else?”

“Rooms are ready,” Garevel told her. “Water will be brought up when they get closer. I’ve prepped the formal dining room for conferences.”

“Good man.”

“There’s just one thing I’m unsure of.”

“Which is?”

“Oghren.” That was all he said, and all he really needed to.

“I want him present,” she told him.

“Commander,” he protested weakly.

“He’s a Grey Warden, and I couldn’t care less how hungover he is.”

“Is that the sort of impression you wish to make on the First Warden though, Commander?”

She sighed. “You don’t know Oghren as I do. He’s a lecherous drunk, true, but there is and always has been honor in him. Even if there weren’t, he’s a Warden. The First Warden should know by now that we do not always recruit those of sparkling moral character. If Ademar can’t handle Oghren, then politics has made him soft.”

Garevel chuckled at that. “Aye. I’ll go get a bucket of cold water.”

“And one of hot,” she told him.

He turned back to her, brow furrowed.

“Cold won’t wake him. Scald him a bit and then use the cold to make him stop screaming.”

Her seneschal snorted in mirth and hurried off to see to it.

The rest of the Wardens filtered in, one or two at a time. When Oghren finally showed up, he had part of his uniform on backwards (Sigrun hurried to help him fix it), but other than that, they were quite a sight. She saw some of the regular guards surreptitiously polishing up their armor a bit and shook her head. The point wasn’t to be _impressive._ But she didn’t tell them not to.

And then there was an exasperated sigh from behind her. “Arlessa.”

She plastered on a smile as she turned around. “Woolsey.”

“You needn’t go to these lengths.”

“No?” she asked innocently. “But the First Warden will be here shortly!”

“He’d much prefer…”

She dropped her innocent act. “I know what he’d prefer, and I don’t give a damn.”

She frowned back at her. “Arlessa…”

“Commander,” she corrected. “You serve the _Order_ , do you not?”

Mistress Woolsey sighed and rubbed at one of her temples. “I was sent by the First Warden, but you know I am not part of the Order.”

“I could change that,” she said with a threatening grin. Woolsey was uninitiated into the secrets of the Joining, but surely she’d heard a thing or two about it by now.

She went a bit pale, but otherwise maintained her composure. “I am an unworthy candidate. And an unwilling one.”

“The last hasn’t usually stopped us,” Kivral pointed out, dropping her grin and folding her arms. “In any case, I am not going to indulge the First Warden’s political motives. The Anderfels may be comfortable with the Wardens all but running them; Ferelden would not be.”

“You should not start out on such a footing,” Woolsey advised her, but then a cry rang out.

“The First Warden approaches!”

Kivral smiled. “Well, there’s no time to change now, is there?” She turned back to face the rest of the mess. “Wardens! Assemble in the throne room! Oghren, try not to fall over.” She whistled quickly and Sekh came trotting up to her. “Gotta look proud and fierce today, boy. You’re a Warden, too, after all.”

He barked at her happily and ran off towards the throne room.

“Come on, Woolsey; I expect you and Garevel to be in attendance also.”

“Of course, Arle-… Commander.” She didn’t sound happy about the change in title.

When the First Warden was shown in – with an impressive entourage, of course – Kivral was standing at attention before her throne (if that’s what you called it for an arling). Sekh was sitting regally just to the left of the throne. The rest of the Wardens stood – also at attention – facing each other, leaving an aisle between them just big enough for one person to walk through. She saluted the way Alistair had taught her, and the other Wardens of Ferelden – what few of them there were – followed suit, though she noticed Velanna looked angry about it.

First Warden Ademar was an impressive human: broad shouldered and chested, a tall barrel of a man. She’d put him about Duncan’s height, with a full, well-trimmed blonde beard – just a touch of gray in it – and fair skin. His appearance, even after being on the road for some time, was meticulous: a rich blue tunic, black breeches and black leather boots barely marred by even a speck of mud – and she’d wager he’d picked that up walking in from the courtyard. He was wearing what looked like a chain of office, except the silver medallion that hung from it bore the double-headed griffon sigil of the Wardens.

The men with him were… well, they were all _men_. All male, all human. If there was a mage in there, she didn’t see one. Most of them looked like someone had cast a spell and turned a bunch of tree trunks into human beings. _Did you do this deliberately?_ she wondered. _Bring a bunch of tall, burly men to try to intimidate the little elf woman?_ Well, shems had never scared her before, and after all she’d been through, she wasn’t about to be cowed by them now.

First Warden Ademar stopped short of the last row of Wardens – Nate and Oghren – and arched an eyebrow. “Arlessa.”

She dropped her salute once it had been acknowledged, and the rest of the Wardens followed suit. “First Warden Ademar, it’s my honor and pleasure as Warden-Commander of Ferelden to welcome you to Amaranthine,” she said.

He seemed amused. “Ease down. This isn’t necessary.”

She did ease down but remained standing. “It’s been a long time since the First Warden visited Ferelden.”

“For reasons I’m sure you’re aware of by now,” he remarked drolly. “And what better occasion to rectify that than the swift end of a Blight? Those outside the Order might not believe that’s what it was, but we know better. You succeeded in the highest and most difficult duty any Grey Warden may undertake, with no support, and…”

“Excuse me, First Warden, but I had support. I had Alistair, and Sekh, and my companions, including Oghren,” she gestured to him, “who has become a Grey Warden since then. I had Riordan. I had the support of our allies as outlined in the treaties. I had the support of the queen.”

His smile turned a bit wry. “The queen you placed on the throne in the first place.”

“I did not slay Urthemiel alone,” she insisted.

“As you will. But there is much about your story that is… remarkable.”

“Thank you,” she said innocently, as if it were a compliment rather than a veiled question. “But we can speak of it more later. I’m sure you and your men would like to rest after your journey?”

He nodded. “It would be appreciated, yes.”

“My seneschal, Garevel, has had rooms made ready for you. Baths are being drawn up,” though it didn’t look like any of them had need of it; it was as if they had ridden in a tent the whole way, so that not a mote of dust could attach itself to them. Who knew? Maybe they had. “And we are preparing a welcome dinner for the occasion.”

“Thank you, Arlessa. It’s nice to be granted such hospitality within Ferelden’s borders once more, for which you, specifically, must be thanked.”

She shook her head. “That is too much, First Warden, but I thank you for it anyway. Please, do get some rest. The servants will summon you for dinner, and I am, of course, at your service.”

Before the First Warden could say anything else, the servants emerged from where they had been lined up, waiting in the shadows, to lead his men away. Ademar must have guessed what she was up to, because he shot her a smirk. “Very well. We are happy to avail ourselves of your hospitality. Commander,” he added.

Her smile widened as Garevel stepped forward to personally escort the First Warden to his room. It didn’t escape her notice that Woolsey went with them.

As soon as they were gone, she practically fell back into her seat.

Alistair walked up and laid a hand on her shoulder. “You did well.”

“Question?” That was Anders.

She looked to him expectantly.

“What’s he talking about how your story is ‘remarkable’?”

“Probably in shock that one of the Dalish could do anything worthwhile,” Velanna muttered.

Kivral sighed. “The short version is that you don’t need to know what he’s talking about. And if any of them should ask you questions, I want you to answer honestly, even – and especially – if that answer is ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’.”

“You’re deliberately leaving us in the dark,” Sigrun charged with a frown.

“Yes, with one exception.” Kivral looked at Oghren, and everyone else followed suit.

He arched a bushy red eyebrow back at her and belched. “You went to the top of Fort Drakon and killed an Archdemon,” he said. “I was down in the city streets, tearing the arms off darkspawn and clubbin’ ‘em in the head with ‘em.”

“Really?!” Sigrun asked excitedly.

“Sure,” Oghren chuckled. “Close enough anyway. What’s a war story without a little embellishment?”

“Oghren,” Kivral said. “This is serious.”

He grumbled and looked her in the eye. “I never knew specifics. Still don’t. Got some suspicions, but no reason to share those with that stuck-up ponce.”

“Thank you,” she breathed. “Anyway, if they press you, I want you all to be able to honestly say you don’t know, and to suggest they take their questions to me.”

“But is it just because you killed an Archdemon?” Anders asked. “Is that what’s so remarkable?”

“Anders,” she sighed.

“It’s ‘cause she survived,” Nate commented. “Has there been a Grey Warden yet who survived slaying an Archdemon?”

“Before you say it,” Kiv put in, looking straight at Velanna, “the last Warden to slay an Archdemon was also an elf.” She cleared her throat. “Nate is, in essence, correct.”

“‘In essence’?” Sigrun pressed.

“Look, there is part of being a Grey Warden that I haven’t told any of you, largely because it’s unnecessary.”

“You should tell them that much,” Alistair said gently. “They deserve to know, and Ademar’s people will probably mention it. Besides, Duncan said there would be time to tell us everything we needed to know. But there wasn’t.”

Kivral sighed. “Fine. Soldiers! Dismissed!”

The soldiers filed out of the throne room, and the Wardens gathered close to her.

“I’ll try to make this quick,” she said after a moment, keeping her voice low, in case of eavesdroppers. Sound carried in the hall, after all.

“When you kill an Archdemon, its essence travels to the next-nearest source of the taint – usually another darkspawn. It can just take over the darkspawn’s body, as there’s no soul in it to interfere. And if you kill _that_ darkspawn’s body, then it’ll take over another, and so on and so forth.

“If a Grey Warden is the next closest source of the taint though, the Archdemon’s essence goes into the Warden. It encounters the Warden’s soul and can’t take the body over. The Archdemon’s essence is destroyed… but so is the Warden’s.”

She let that sink in for a moment, just as she let their horrified looks sink into _her_ mind. She was responsible for them, for their Joinings; some of them hadn’t even been given a choice, and now here she was, revealing yet another downside to being a Grey Warden.

She continued, “That is how the first four Archdemons were slain: by Wardens willingly sacrificing themselves. You will notice that Alistair and I are both still alive. Ademar will no doubt want to know how that happened. And _that_ is what I am refusing to tell all of you. It… was an extraordinary circumstance, and one that cannot and, honestly, should not be replicated.”

They were silent. “Well, that’s…” Nate began.

“What has to be done,” Sigrun finished.

Velanna and Anders shared a look that Kivral didn’t like. “Please don’t speculate to them either,” she said. “Just say honestly that you don’t know. Tell them to ask me.”

“You or Alistair or just you?” Nate asked.

“Just me,” she insisted. “I’m Warden-Commander. I was in charge then and I’m in charge now.”

All of them – except Oghren – glanced at Alistair.

He shrugged and looked stupid.

They accepted that.

“So, let me get this straight,” Anders said. “This is the First Warden and we’re supposed to salute and obey and all that, except for this one specific piece of information that he wants badly enough to come all the way to Ferelden to try to get?”

“Pretty much,” she agreed.

He grinned. “I like it.”

Dinner was a tense, formal affair, stiffer than wet leather left to dry. Ademar kept his probing questions and comments to a minimum, but Alistair was still uncomfortable by the attention he was paying Kivral. It was as if the First Warden was trying to read her mind.

_Can’t you just be happy that we survived?_ He knew it didn’t work that way. He knew that, in Ademar’s place, he’d want to know how. If there was a way to keep Wardens from being sacrificed to end Blights, after all…

_It’s not worth this_. Who knew what an Old God loose in the world would do, even one raised as a mortal? _Let alone one raised by **Morrigan** …_ He had to suppress a shudder. That was only the beginning of the awful on that score.

It had been a selfish thing to do, just so he could be with Kiv. Wardens were not meant to be selfish.

But, as he watched Ademar talk about the difficulties of national administration, he also thought that Wardens shouldn’t be in charge of entire countries. Perhaps that was his own bias, stemming from how close he’d come to winding up in that exact position, but he believed Wardens should focus on what they were meant for and leave the politics to others.

He was inclined to think that, in general, personal selfishness was a lesser sin than seeking political power. But, in their case, perhaps there _was_ no greater sin. He believed in Andraste and the Maker. He had allowed himself to be used as a means to bring an old Tevinter god into being in the world, raised and “nurtured” (to the extent someone like Morrigan could _be_ nurturing) by a maleficar. Her purposes for this god-child were unclear but he doubted they were wholesome.

_Maker, I am so sorry. But I would make the same choice again._

He had to give it to Morrigan: if she had asked him directly, he would have turned her down flat. She’d been clever enough to go to Kivral. And looking at her, feeling the depth of the love he had for her, he couldn’t turn down the chance to stay with her for as long as the taint allowed.

Alistair resolved then to write down what had happened before he went into the Deep Roads for that last time. To let someone know what had happened so that, should something horrific happen because of his decision, future Wardens wouldn’t be entirely in the dark. They’d stand a better chance of fighting it. And, perhaps, they wouldn’t make the same mistake.

But that was the future. Tonight was for deflecting Ademar and enjoying the fresh venison, pretending to be stupid, and ignoring the looks the mages were occasionally giving him. They were probably trying to figure out the how of it, despite Kiv having told them not to speculate. _Can’t you just accept what she said?_ But he knew it didn’t work that way.

Dinner, sleep, breakfast, and then it was time for Kivral, Alistair, and the First Warden to sit in conference. For his part, Anders had been curious about the incoming Wardens. Supposedly, the Grey Wardens did what they had to. They recruited anyone, even people like, well, _him_. But he couldn’t help worrying about what people who _didn’t_ report to Kiv would think. So long as they didn’t try to drag him back to the Circle, he could manage it. It wasn’t like he needed to be everyone’s best friend. But a lifetime of being shunned for being a mage, then being punished for not obeying, and… Well, a casual disinterest would be a nice change of pace.

Plus, these were Wardens from the Anderfels. He wanted to hear more about his father’s homeland, if possible, even if none of it were personally related to him.

So while the two commanders and their immediate subordinates were in conference, Anders made his way over to a group of Wardens who had come from Weisshaupt. They were drinking, talking, and laughing in the courtyard, as the reconstruction went on around them.

“Hello, fellow Wardens!” he said with a grin. “It looks like we’re having a good time over here.”

They looked up at him from the boxes they’d commandeered as seats. One of them asked, “What’s with the cat?”

Because of course his constant kitty companion was on his shoulder. He smiled and reached up to scritch him. “His name is Ser…”

“Didn’t ask its _name_ ,” the Warden grunted. He was a burly man whose left eye had gone milky. Probably had to do with the scar over that eye. Nose looked like it had been broken more than once, too. _Has this man **ever** seen a healer?_

“ _His_ name,” Anders corrected, “is Ser Pounce-a-lot, and the commander gave him to me.”

They laughed. “That what you get for a job well done here? A tomcat?”

“I’d rather have a pussy,” one of the others retorted, and they all guffawed.

_Oh yes, how droll. My sides, oh, how they ache from the mirth._ “I was wondering what the Anderfels are like?”

One of them spat on the ground at Anders’s feet. _Ew._ He only barely managed to stay still. “Blight-blasted, dry, and dusty,” he said. “You lot don’t know how good you have it here.”

“Oh. Well. That’s unfortunate. Must’ve been a lot of fighting at Weisshaupt to come on this trip then.”

“How’s that?”

He grinned. “Well, it must be like a vacation, being here where we have it so good.”

“Eh.” The burly man shrugged. “Close enough.”

“Is this sort of thing normal? Getting to leave Weisshaupt and visiting Wardens in other lands?”

The burly man snorted. “’Course not. We’ve got our own business to see to most of the time, and Ademar’s far too busy to just take off willy-nilly.”

“Well, we’re honored then,” he replied brightly. “And you’re welcome.”

“For what?” He narrowed the one eye that still worked. _Is the **eyelid** on the milky eye gone, too? Ugh._

For the sake of his new ‘friends’, he said, “You are welcome to Vigil’s Keep,” slowly, so it could be more clearly understood.

The burly man scowled.

“Keep up the good work, gents! Oh, but don’t work _too_ hard!” He turned and strolled away.

And then suddenly, with a loud MROW!, Ser Pounce-a-lot was knocked off his shoulder. He caught the kitty in the nick of time and whipped around to glare at the Anderfels Wardens, who were now laughing. He looked back at his cat to see a bleeding mark, the size of a small rock, on the poor thing’s hindquarters.

He healed Ser Pounce-a-lot as he headed back in, anger boiling. As he stepped inside, a harsh breeze came up, so strong that it knocked the jugs from the Wardens’ hands, spilling what was left of their ale onto their pants and boots. They jumped up, yelling and cursing in annoyance. Strangely, the now-dying wind seemed to be localized to that specific area of the courtyard.

Anders looked around and spotted Velanna at the window, the magical glow around her hand dimming away as she lowered it. She turned to him and nodded tightly.

He smiled as he shut the door behind him. “Thank you.”

“They’re the worst kind of shem scum,” she asserted. “Even before they decided to hurt a defenseless animal. You’ve nothing to thank me for. They deserved worse.”

“Well, next time they act up, we can light them on fire,” he said cheerily.

“I would enjoy that,” she said with a grin.

“Have I mentioned how much I appreciate your violent tendencies?”

She snorted and he laughed, and they walked together back into the keep, talking. Still, if this was what the rank-and-file Wardens from the Anderfels were like, he wasn’t sure how well things were going to go between Kiv and the First Warden.

_Where are you going to start?_ Kivral wondered as she took her seat at the conference table and gestured for the First Warden and the men he'd brought with him to do likewise. Alistair shot her a look no doubt meant to be reassuring; instead, it just made her feel protective and guilty all over again.

“Through your heroic and unprecedented,” there was the barest pause on the word, “actions, you have secured an arling for the Wardens.”

_I see. Well, better there, I suppose._ It was, perhaps, the least horrible choice.

But Ademar was still talking. “As well, you have the support and good will of Ferelden’s queen. Though one wonders why you did not make the… more obvious choice?”

She bristled and fought not to show it. “More obvious?” she asked calmly. “What could be more obvious than the king’s widow, who had been a close confidant and councilor during his tenure, picking up where her husband had left off? Indeed, Loghain’s rule was predicated on his acting as ‘regent’ for Anora.” She snorted at the idea of a grown woman needing her father to rule for her.

“Yes, but Alistair had a blood claim to the throne and the backing of a popular and powerful ally. He is trustworthy, of good character, and cares for Ferelden.”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t want to be king,” Alistair put in. She was surprised he’d spoken up at all, though his tone was still cautiously deferential. “I know I wouldn’t be half as good a king as Anora is a queen. She’s the better choice between the two of us, and I wanted to do what was best for Ferelden.”

Ademar countered, “Being a good ruler is primarily about the choice of one’s advisors, as I’m sure the arlessa can attest.” _Of course you’d say that; you’re the chief advisor to an all-but-powerless king._ “And I’m sure she would have stuck by you. Surely having ‘the Hero of Ferelden’ as an advisor could only add glory to your reign.”

“You have to remember, First Warden,” she put in, “that ‘the Hero of Ferelden’ is an elf, and a Dalish one at that. I may be a Hero to some people, but to others – and most especially the Landsmeet – I am still a ‘knife-eared bitch’.”

“Yet they accept you as arlessa.”

“Barely, and only because they have no choice. I had rebellions here in the arling itself to quell.”

“Which you did quite well. They would have grown to accept you, in time.”

“Time Ferelden did not have,” she insisted. “The country needed a capable and effective leader _immediately_.”

“Did they not have one in Loghain?”

She could practically feel Alistair bristling at the First Warden’s question.

He continued, “Aside from the fact that he was slandering and persecuting the Wardens, was he not otherwise the strong leader Ferelden needed?”

She shook her head, doing her best to keep her own anger in check. “I said ‘capable and effective,’ not ‘strong.’ Loghain’s hatred of Orlais turned him against the Wardens and away from seeing the truth of the Blight. He would have doomed Ferelden and the rest of the world with his paranoia and viciousness.

“Anora is the best leader Ferelden could ask for. Alistair is a good man, one of the best I’ve ever known, but he is no king, nor does he wish to be. He should stay a Grey Warden.”

Ademar chuckled. “He can be both.”

“No,” Alistair protested, “I don’t think I could. I’m not much of a leader, First Warden. Even with the best advisors, including Kivral, I would not be a very effective king. And my duties as the ruler of Ferelden would get in the way of my duties as a Warden.”

“But your _abilities_ as a Warden can’t be taken from you. A king with the ability to track darkspawn, to sense a Blight…”

“Gods willing,” she saw Ademar’s eyes narrow at the phrase, “there will not be another Blight for centuries yet. And he cannot track them through the whole country. Regardless, it’s moot: Anora is queen, and will remain so. I believe you can appreciate how a Grey Warden challenging her for the throne would not be seen in the best light in this particular kingdom.”

Ademar frowned. “The Warden Rebellion was so long ago…”

“That sort of thing can linger in memory, especially to those in power.”

“Who are only in power because you put them there.”

“What’s done is done.” That curt, dismissive tone came from _Alistair_ , of all people. She wanted to reach out, pat his hand or rub his shoulder, give him some sort of reassurance. Being king was a fate he was glad to have avoided; Ademar was treading on that security.

But she stayed as she was. This was not the time or place for such intimate gestures, and if Ademar didn’t already know about the two of them – unlikely – then she didn’t see the need to advertise it. _Though I wonder if I could convince them the ‘power of true love’ is how Alistair and I both survived killing the Archdemon?_

The problem with trying such a lie was that, given an answer, the Wardens would undoubtedly record it and seek it out in the next Blight. She didn’t want to risk dooming the world later because of a lie told now. But telling them the truth could be just as bad.

She thought of Avernus and his ungodly research. Of the… methods he’d employed in pursuit of his manipulation of the taint. Was Morrigan’s ritual so different? She wasn’t sure if Ademar would have approved of her decision that night, but she wasn’t intending to find out. Even if he didn’t, some other Grey Warden might find the information about the ritual and then…

_No one else_.

She supposed it might not be so bad for someone else in another circumstance. But the end result… was that truly a good idea? Probably not. It ate at her, but she couldn’t have chosen differently. _Should_ she have? Most likely.

If there had been no recourse, no dark and ancient ritual, she would have sacrificed herself. It had been her intention when Riordan told them, that if he fell – as had happened – that she would step forward. But she knew it would hurt Alistair. She knew he would feel that as keenly as a knife to the heart, and even with all the time that had passed since Ostagar, it would still be too soon after losing Duncan. When Morrigan had offered her the way out, she’d leapt at it.

And she’d pressed it on Alistair, even though she knew what she was asking was horrible. She’d all but ordered him to, because time was precious and so was he, so was everything between them that she’d never had before and refused to give up now. She had panicked and demanded Alistair surrender himself to a woman he hated. Just so that she could keep him again after that. Just so neither of them would face the nights and the nightmares alone.

She’d been selfish.

She’d been weak.

For the first time since…

But it just wasn’t fair! She’d had her best friend taken from her, her home and her people, then Duncan, and then there was the threat to Ferelden and the entire world… She was on the cusp of losing it all and there was this one thin razor-wire that would preserve it all, even if it cut her and made her bleed to take it. She’d had to be _so strong_ for so long. What was one moment of childishness? One moment of weakness?

What if that one moment had doomed the world in another way?

_You’re being maudlin._ Whatever Morrigan was, she didn’t seek to destroy the world. Kiv believed that. Power, yes, but destruction? Only of those who stood in her way. And the choice could not be undone now.

“Are you alright, Arlessa?”

She snapped out of it. Everyone was looking at her. “Sorry. I was off in my own head, I suppose. I’m fine.”

“The rigors of leadership _are_ quite taxing,” Ademar observed.

“Leadership has nothing to do with it,” she snapped, then cleared her throat. “Do you think I am unfit to rule Amaranthine?”

“All evidence to the contrary,” he replied smoothly. “You protected the arling and its main city well, and while the keep has been badly damaged, it still stands.”

“But then that doesn’t really answer my question, does it? I have proved I can protect and defend the arling and its people, but do you think I am unfit to be arlessa?”

“Do you?” he asked.

She sighed. “You keep dodging my question, First Warden.”

“Just as you keep dodging your title.”

“Fine. Let me lay this out for you as plainly as possible.”

“Uh oh,” Alistair muttered under his breath.

She ignored him, fixing Ademar with a glare. “I do not like being arlessa. I strive to fulfill my responsibilities to the best of my ability because I am aware of the prestige it brings the order. Here in Ferelden, after the rebellion and Loghain’s slander, the Wardens sorely need some public goodwill. I am trying to restore that to us.

“But I believe the Grey Wardens are not meant to meddle in politics. We are not and should not be beholden to a country’s ruler. Our purpose is singular and specific; politics and governance only muddy those waters.”

Ademar raised his chin and squared his shoulders. “You do not approve of me.”

“I hardly know you, First Warden. I do not approve of the role you play in the politics of the Anderfels.”

“The Anderfels are not Ferelden.”

“I know that. I don’t think the distinction is relevant. You all but rule that country, and I don’t think it’s right. And then you come here upset that we ‘missed our chance’ to put a Grey Warden on the throne.”

“You did what you thought best for Ferelden,” the First Warden said, “and not the Order. So how is that not getting tangled up in politics?”

“I did what was best for Ferelden _and_ the order by _extricating_ ourselves from politics. Or, at least, I had until Anora appointed me Arlessa. Refusing the appointment, there in front of the Landsmeet, would have been insulting and might have endangered us all over again. I am here – both as Arlessa _and_ as Warden-Commander – because there was no choice.”

“You believe _I_ have a choice?” he replied. “The king is weak, and the only thing he cares about is his own comfort. He has some minor concern about Hossberg, but only because he lives there. The Anderfels would be all but abandoned if someone didn’t step in, and the people trust the Grey Wardens. They trust us because they see us at work, in action, out there protecting their families and lands against the darkspawn. _NOWHERE_ – no human or elven lands – has as many darkspawn attacks as we do. We have to be everywhere, and if we can keep the peace while we’re at it…”

“Your people do their duty well and nobly, I’m sure,” she said, before he could continue. “And I have no qualms with you keeping the peace while you’re about it. But that is not the same as running the entire country.”

“The king is still king.”

“For now,” she agreed. “I’ve heard some rumors…”

“Shall we discuss the rumors I’ve heard of you then?” he shot back.

_I see you’ve been talking with Woolsey._ She smiled calmly. “You seem… agitated, First Warden,” she observed.

He cleared his throat, smoothed out his hair and his barely rumpled clothes. But his gaze was icy and vindictive. “We all know another Blight is inevitable. Maker willing, not in _our_ lifetimes, but it _will_ come. A Warden-Commander in a position of nobility here in Ferelden would only _help_ this country’s Wardens be better-positioned when the inevitable happens.”

“I don’t see how,” she replied. “Or, rather, I don’t see the difference between maintaining a good relationship with the throne and actually ruling ourselves, except that in the latter case we'd be distracted from our real duty by the ‘rigors’ of governance.”

“You were given a great chance, and threw it away,” he insisted. “But at least you have been granted an arling. It’s a good start. Not as good as the throne itself, but…”

“And what happens when the king is Called?” she asked, trying not to get heated herself. “How is a Royal Grey Warden supposed to provide heirs?”

“He – or She – can designate another Warden to…”

“Oh, yes, an entire line of tainted rulers,” she observed dryly.

“You’d never have need for the Right of Conscription again,” Ademar maintained. “Joining the Wardens could mean you’d get to be king or queen! You’d have recruits lined up out the door.”

She shook her head. “And most of them would die in the Joining, which would expose one of our oldest and most necessary secrets.” She sighed. “First Warden, I’m sorry, but I won’t do that. I won’t be responsible for so many deaths, and I won’t put an unwilling king on the throne.”

He leaned back. “You ‘won’t’ or you ‘don’t want to’?” His tone was smug, and he was smirking at her.

She arched an eyebrow. _You’ve **definitely** been speaking with Woolsey_. “Both. Am I supposed to be surprised that you know? It’s not a secret.”

“I didn’t want to be king,” Alistair put in. “I still don’t want to be. That’s personal and it’s also what’s best for Ferelden. They don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

“I don’t want to be arlessa, but I am trying to serve as honorably and as well as I can in the position,” Kiv said. “And I am trying to keep my _being_ arlessa separate from my being the Warden-Commander of Ferelden.”

“I don’t see how you can manage that,” Ademar commented. “It would be like trying to keep your little love affair a secret.”

She sighed. “You speak of it like it’s something dirty, something wrong.”

He shrugged. “Most chains of command have rules against fraternization. A commander ‘consorting’ with her inferiors… It opens up claims of favoritism.”

Alistair started laughing.

“I’m sorry, did I miss a joke?” the First Warden asked.

“You… you think… she shows me any favoritism?” Alistair asked, weak with mirth. “Forgive me, First Warden, but you don’t know this woman. I spent days riding from Highever, yet my first full day here, she had me doing errands and chores, with no ear for my complaints! Cold as the winter Wilds!”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re being melodramatic about it, as usual. I gave you _light_ chores.”

“The lightest chore was walking Sekh, and I’m pretty sure _he_ actually walked _me_ – like you told him to! And I’ve been working on the reconstruction every day since then, except for today, and that’s just ‘cause you’re here,” he gestured towards Ademar, “and I’m expected to be here for these talks. This is a vacation! I work hard every single day and then I hardly get any rest at night!”

She couldn’t help blushing. “You can leave it at that, thanks.”

“I was going to,” he replied. “I’m not going into details. And what do I get for my hard work? Jokes and comments about how I stink.”

“To be fair, you usually do. And you _do_ sleep! Some.” She cleared her throat and looked back to their ‘guest’. “The point is that I _don’t_ keep the fact that Alistair and I are in love a secret. It’s not, as far as I’m aware, against any rules or laws for us to be a couple, and given the fact that we have a decade or so to live, I really couldn’t care less about your ‘approval’ of it or not.

“Whether I loved him or not is irrelevant to whether he wound up on the throne. As I told you, I believe Anora is the best choice for Ferelden. Even were she not, that’s a moot point now. As for my being arlessa, yes, okay, I am. But even if I knew how to ‘exploit’ my position for the sake of the order, I wouldn’t. We deceive our recruits through omission as is; I won’t outright lie to them on top of it by pretending one of them might become arl or arlessa someday.”

The First Warden rubbed at his temple. “You’re saying that you are unwilling to use every tool in your power to help the Order?”

She frowned at him. “I don’t think helping the Order is as important as doing our duty.”

“They’re the same thing.”

“They’re _not_. How does the Order’s increased wealth and power help destroy darkspawn?”

“It keeps us in good standing in the long times between Blights – something I would think a Warden-Commander of Ferelden would be especially mindful of.”

She barked a laugh. “If you think nobles are thought highly of…”

“Everything is made easier with wealth and power behind it,” he said.

She cocked her head. “I wasn’t aware the Wardens did what was ‘easy’.”

He sighed heavily. “We don’t, but that doesn’t mean we _can’t_.”

_We’re getting nowhere_. “Well, I _am_ arlessa now, no matter how much I didn’t want to be. To go back to what started all of this, however much you wish Alistair had been made king, he wasn’t, and he isn’t going to be. More to the point, trying to use his surname and bloodline to win ‘goodwill’ and recruits will look to Queen Anora like a play for power. Right now, I am focused on _restoring_ the Warden ranks; we can hardly afford another purge of them.”

Ademar backed down. “Speaking of restoring the ranks, what happened to the Orlesian Wardens sent here?”

The tension melted out of her, dissolved by the sad memory. “Most of them bravely gave their lives; the rest I sent home. Orlesians are not always welcome on Ferelden soil. I appreciate their being here, but…”

“When you say ‘gave their lives,’ you mean in defense of either Vigil’s Keep or the city?”

She shook her head. “No. They died fighting darkspawn, as Grey Wardens should, but… If I had known what was coming, I would have kept the remaining Orlesians for the battles ahead. After most of their number were lost to the darkspawn coming up within our own walls…”

Ademar’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“This keep had a connection to the Deep Roads. It has since been sealed… but at a cost.”

“The seal will hold?”

She nodded once. “Dwarven made and guaranteed.”

“Terrible loss.” It was the first thing she and Ademar had agreed on since last night, when they’d both decided dinner was delicious. “Do you know which ones…?”

“Of course. Garevel can give you the list.”

The shared loss of fellow Wardens defused the tension, and when she suggested they end the meeting, Ademar agreed. She waited until the First Warden and his large and silent companions had left before she sighed heavily.

Alistair’s hand fell to her shoulder and began rubbing it. “Thank you.”

She smiled at him wearily. “You’re welcome, ma vhenan. But by all the Creators, how many times must I say the same thing to get through to that shem?!”

“Don’t be insulting. He’s still the First Warden.”

“He’s the First Jackass as far as I’m concerned.”

“Kivral!” He was legitimately outraged.

“You’re too concerned with authority sometimes,” she told him. “And let’s not forget, it’s only going to get worse from here on out.”

He groaned. “Can I work on the reconstruction tomorrow instead?”

“Yes,” she agreed.

He blinked at her. “Seriously? I mean, I’d rather, but I didn’t think you’d actually…”

“It was my doing. I’ll deal with Ademar.”

“Technically, it was _my_ doing.”

“At my order. I’ll take the responsibility for it, which means dealing with the First Warden. For now, let’s not think about it.”

“As much as I’d rather not think about it at all, are you sure that’s wise? Shouldn’t there be _some_ sort of preparation?”

“How much did we prepare during the Blight?” she asked with a smirk.

“That’s different. We didn’t have the chance then.”

“Let’s just go,” she insisted, smirk fading. “Please? I want to stretch my legs. Let’s take Sekh for a walk. Together.”

He relented. “Fine. You hold onto the leash, and I’ll hold onto you.”

They gathered in secret after another tense dinner with their “fellows” in the Order. The wine cellar was an excellent place for clandestine meetings, especially if you knew of the secret door to get down there without being seen. No one should be coming down here except the servants. Still, they kept their voices low.

“I don’t like them.”

“They don’t like you either.”

“They’re not fond of _any_ of us.”

“Seems to me they’d rather stab me in the back than look at me. Which, y’know, I suppose that’s one way to go about it…”

“Not _now_ , please. They nearly killed Ser Pounce-a-lot as is!”

“Awww, lookit you, gettin’ all soft!”

“‘Gettin’’ nothin’. He’s soft as dirty diaper.”

“This is off-topic.”

“I am not though.”

“What? Off-topic?”

“No, soft.”

“No, you’re not, but let’s focus up.”

“Oghren was just teasing anyway.”

“ _Focus_.”

“We should inform the commander.”

“That’s right, go tattle to Mommy. ‘Boo hoo, the mean Wardens from the Anderfels don’t wike us! Boo hoo hoo!’”

“Cork it, booze-sponge. This is about more than ‘not getting along’.”

“He’s right. Doesn’t it just _feel_ like they’re plotting something?”

“Maybe. Or maybe they’re just getting more and more annoyed because we’re not showing them the ‘proper’ deference. When you get used to that sort of thing, you can get pretty pissy when it disappears.”

“Kivral, especially, is not showing obeisance to their leader.”

“He’s supposed to be _our_ leader, too.”

“Supposed to be.”

They glanced around at each other. It was plain as day on everyone’s face, even Oghren’s: as far as each of them was concerned, their ‘chain of command’ stopped with _their_ commander. They settled in to discuss what, if anything, could be done about this.

She tensed up as they headed to bed. Alistair felt her squeeze his hand twice, quickly. He mentally reached out as they walked towards their bedroom. _There_. It was faint, but it was unmistakable.

Grey Wardens could feel the darkspawn because of the taint in both of them. The darkspawn could feel the Grey Wardens in the same manner. But this also meant that a Grey Warden, if they really focused on it, could feel other Grey Wardens, too.

It was hard, though he’d actually had the easiest time of learning it, compared to the others. It was just a redirecting of one’s mental focus, so it reminded him a bit of the meditation he’d done in templar training. The mages had picked it up pretty easily, too. He still wasn’t sure if Oghren could manage it. Easy to learn or not, it wasn’t something he was used to doing, and even then, his brain wanted to just filter out this information as unnecessary. Grey Wardens didn’t really _feel_ like darkspawn, since there was so much more in that Joining chalice than just blood. It was the taint but… different, just a little. Weaker, certainly, but also altered. He could almost taste the lyrium, too, even though he’d never had a sip of it during his time in the Chantry. It was all mixed in together, ‘herbs and spices’ as Anders was fond of saying. But the core of it was still the taint. He could still pick that out, if he concentrated.

Once he began to focus, the first to register was Kivral, of course, walking right next to him, hand-in-hand as if nothing were wrong. Sekh still came up, despite his having been “cured” of the taint; it… lingered in the mabari, as if the wardog’s blood somehow carried the scars of it. Alistair could even feel the taint in his own blood, a little, like a distant echo.

But there was another source of the darkspawn taint nearby, barely detectable, like a scent wafting to you from almost too far.

He double-squeezed Kiv’s hand.

They’d worked out a lot of non-verbal communication in their time during the Blight. It came in handy sometimes, especially when dealing with people who were less likely to think kindly of the two of them thanks to Loghain’s lies. He’d wondered if they’d ever have need of it again. It appeared they would.

Her other hand lazily brushed along Sekh’s fur, petting him as if he were a family lap dog. _He’s **definitely** got to know we’re being followed. _He assumed she was calming the mabari, keeping him acting him normal.

It had to be a rogue; Alistair heard no other footsteps. It was unlikely Nathaniel would be following them like this. Maaaybe Sigrun; sometimes she got in on the pranks. There was no way to tell. The darkspawn taint didn’t differentiate between people; it wasn’t as if Kivral felt different to Nate, for example. Grey Wardens felt different than darkspawn, but the taint itself was always the same: as if death had a… almost a scent, or a taste, but in your mind, and it was rotten, toxic, like poisoned meat left out to rot. And even after all this time, even now, so long after his Joining, something in him instinctively _recoiled_ from it. It was brief, but it was almost that sense of instant fear that defined what the taint felt like. Almost.

She leaned up to whisper in his ear, “Pretend I said something naughty,” and then giggled as she returned to walking normally.

He snorted. “Minx,” he charged. “Can’t even wait until we’re in our bedchamber?”

“It’s so far!” she protested with a pout.

“Well then.” He bent and picked her up. He didn’t throw her over his shoulder this time but carried her in his arms.

She looped her arms around his neck and gazed adoringly at him. He knew her well enough that he didn’t doubt she was keeping the hallway behind him in her peripheral vision this way.

“Now you don’t have to walk it,” he said gallantly.

When they reached their room, he opened the door and she ordered, “Sekh, stay out here.” The mabari dutifully circled a little and then laid down. He just _happened_ to be facing out into the hallway. _Good dog._

Alistair kicked the door shut behind them, then set her back down on her feet. She held two fingers out, moving them in a circle – “Keep it up” – before darting towards the tapestry of the Battle of Ayesleigh. She shoved it aside and started pushing on stones.

He went to sit on the bed and watched her. “I have to get my boots off before my pants!” he cried, just a little louder than normal so it’d carry through the door. While he was at it, he _did_ start to get his boots off. Might as well. He saw her shoulders shake with laughter and couldn’t help grinning.

Finally, there was a slight scraping sound as one of the stones gave way beneath her hand. She stepped away from the tapestry and said, in a more petulant tone than he’d ever thought to hear from her, “I had such a _long_ , _hard_ day, ma vhenan… I need you. Hurry up!” Then she moved silently over to the door, listening, feeling.

He stretched his own senses, but then gave up. The sense of another Warden was too faint, too strange perhaps, for him to make out through a heavy wooden door and stone walls. He picked his boots up, brought them to a section of floor with no rug and dramatically let them drop. “Okay, now that I don’t have boots on…”

The tapestry billowed slightly, as if a breeze were blowing. Kivral darted, quiet as a mouse, towards it, and raised a finger to her lips as a servant woman came into the room. “I need a favor, uh… I’m sorry I don’t know your name.”

She seemed surprised the arlessa would want to know it, but at least she _did_ speak quietly. “Frieda, m’lady.”

“Frieda,” she said. She glanced at the door quickly, then back to the servant. “Find out where Wardens Nathaniel and Sigrun are. If they’re _not_ outside in the hallway, send one of them here to clear our ‘visitor’ out.”

She nodded. “Yes, m’lady,” she whispered, and darted back into the hallway.

“And now,” Kiv said, as the wall began to close behind Frieda, “back to our little play…” She was smirking ear to ear.

He had to clap a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. When he thought he had control of himself, he asked, “And just what have you got in mind now, minx?” but it wasn’t loud enough to be heard outside the room.

That didn’t seem to matter to her. “OH, MY LOVE!” she declared, more than loud enough. She practically threw herself against the door; as light as she was – especially compared to the heavy oak – it barely moved at all. “I MUST HAVE YOU NOW!”

He had to swallow down a snort of mirth. She was hamming it up, and he decided to take her cue and run with it. “Right here?” he asked as he approached the door. “Right NOW?! But what about the BED?!”

“Do I have to issue a _command_?!” she asked as if his lips were water and she was dying of thirst. In the middle of a pub. On Amateur Playwrights’ Night.

“What do you need, O Love of My Life?” he inquired imploringly. “You have but to ask, and it shall be Yours!”

She responded with a stream of Elvish that sounded like someone in desperate need of… physical loving. He didn’t know much of her native language, but he knew enough to give a rough translation of some of it as, “Damn filthy voyeurs!”

He slammed his hands against the door, either side of her body; _that_ made the door shake appropriately. “Whatever my commander, my love, my one and only-est desires,” he said, almost to the wood instead of to her.

She was shaking with laughter again, and the look she was giving him truly _was_ desperate, in that she seemed to be on the verge of guffawing loudly and giving everything away.

So he kissed her, deeply, to keep the both of them quiet, because the ridiculous play-acting was going to have them both dissolving into loud peals of hilarity if they kept it up. He slid his hands down her sides, then picked her up, pressing her back against the firm wood behind her.

She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and her arms loosely around his neck. Her moan was a bit louder than it might have otherwise been but was just the same as if they weren’t making believe for the sake of some sneak.

He moved to her neck, kissing her throat before sucking hard, and she gasped, “MA VHENAN!” loudly. As far as his body was concerned, nothing about this was pretend, and he was on the verge of not really caring if someone heard them or not.

But then, from the hallway, came a snort of laughter and then Sigrun’s voice in a knowing sing-song: “Oooooh, someone’s being naughty!”

Alistair looked up and towards the hallway as if he could see through the door. There was a heavy SMACK! sound – she must have given the rogue a hearty dwarven slap on the back.

“Commander catches you listening in on her and Alistair, you won’t make it to the Deep Roads, get what I’m sayin’? ‘Course, can’t blame you!” She laughed loudly. “We’ve all tried to listen in a time or two! Well, Oghren maybe more than most, but… Come on, buddy! I think if we head down to the kitchens, we can snitch some rolls leftover from dinner!”

He looked to Kiv, who listened as Sigrun’s chatter died away and then nodded. He backed away from the door a bit then set her back on her feet. Not long after, the wall behind the tapestry opened back up. “M’lady?”

“You can come in, Frieda,” Kiv said, heading over there.

“They were both in their rooms. Miz Sigrun said…”

“Yeah, we heard her. Thank you, Frieda. I’ll make sure Garevel gives you a little extra something in your next pay.”

The servant woman blushed. She was the early end of middle-aged, Alistair guessed. Either that, or she’d had a damn hard life. Either way, the blush seemed odd on her face. “Thank you, m’lady, but… if I can speak honestly?”

“Always.”

“None of us much like these other Wardens. You and our good Ferelden Wardens here, you all treat us good, almost like you’ve known us years, even. Thems treat us like we’re not even servants, like we’re _slaves_. Couple of ‘em tried to have their way with some of the scullery maids downstairs.”

_Uh oh_. Anyone could see her brows draw in and down, her mouth frown, her hands ball into fists, but Alistair could also see her spine stiffen in outrage. He could almost _feel_ the anger coming from her, like the heat from a fireplace.

Frieda rushed to reassure her. “Garevel showed up in time, sent the girls on their way back to work and made sure to tell them afterwards to always work in pairs, to send someone after him if something like that happens again. He looks out for us. But… well, how much longer…?”

The anger collapsed out of her. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m sorry. The absolute earliest they’d leave would be overmorrow. I’ll do everything I can to make that happen.”

“Thank you, m’lady. ‘m sorry to have troubled you with it.”

“No, no,” she reassured the woman. “It’s no trouble. In fact, please do keep me informed. You work here, but you aren’t slaves or whores. No one is allowed to just do as they wish with _any_ of you.”

“Thank you, m’lady,” Frieda said again. She nodded at him, and then ducked back behind the tapestry.

He waited until the servants’ passage had closed up again before he sighed and looked to the bedroom door. “What do you think they expected to overhear from us?”

“Likely hoping we’d be talking about tomorrow, about what we were going to say.” She sat on a stool near the tub and started unlacing her boots. “Ademar doesn’t have the first _clue_ how we both survived, and it has to be driving him mad. Going into that little chat with some inkling would probably make him feel better.”

“If nothing else, perhaps catch us in a lie,” he agreed, starting to unbuckle his armor. “Overhear us talking about what to say _instead_ of the truth and then, when you say it tomorrow, he’ll know it’s made-up.”

“We don’t know how much longer Sigrun can keep them away from the room. Or if Ademar won’t send someone else, once he discovers his first spy was found out.” She pulled her feet out of her now unlaced boots.

He nodded. “What do you suggest?”

She rose from the stool and came over to help him with his armor, smirking up at him as she came in close. “Picking up where we left off?” she asked slyly as she began working buckles open.

He arched an eyebrow. “I think I can do that.” He could feel a grin of his own starting to slide across his lips.

“And don’t worry about trying to be quiet.”

That stopped the grin in its tracks. He could feel the heat coming into his face. “That… might be a bit…”

“Oh, fine,” she huffed as if put upon. “I’ll be the loud one then.”

That didn’t help his blushing, but he just bent to kiss her instead. Quickly, this time. After all, there was an awful lot of armor to be rid of first.

“Good morning, Arlessa.”

_It doesn’t feel like it_ , she thought as she took her seat at the conference table.

“Will Warden Theirin not be joining us today?”

“No,” she said, voice a bit crisper than she’d intended. Then again, perhaps it was time to stop being nice. Especially after last night’s attempt at sneakery. _Did you think we wouldn’t notice? Did you think **I** wouldn’t notice?!_ It was almost an insult to her skills. And to use Alistair’s last name now, as if to hit her with it _again_ after they’d already finished that discussion yesterday?

“Pity. Well then…”

She waited for First Warden Ademar to ask. She wasn’t going to volunteer a damn thing. She still wasn’t sure what to say.

“Surely you must know the main reason we came. The reason that _I_ came personally?”

“Vacation?” she asked.

He snorted, but his amusement was short-lived. “Come, come, Arlessa…”

“I am the Warden-Commander of Ferelden,” she corrected him.

“Yes. And the Arlessa of Amaranthine.”

“I told you only yesterday that I do not like being arlessa, and yet you still insist on addressing me as such. Are you deliberately trying to anger me?”

“No, though you seem to be quite riled. Did you not get enough rest?” His eyes went to the love mark left by Alistair on her neck, visible above the collar of her uniform.

He was _smug_ , damn him. Smug shemlen who thought he knew so much more than the wee little knife-ear, who thought that because he was larger and stronger he could get the better of her. She could feel her anger beginning to boil within her.

When she did nothing but glare at him, he leaned towards her and asked, “How did you two survive killing the Archdemon?”

And she began to freeze over.

_I can’t say that we had another Grey Warden; he knows Riordan was the only one in the country and we had no way to conduct a Joining. Am I really supposed to tell him the **truth**? _She wasn’t even sure she could say it out loud. The words seemed to stick in her throat.

“A Warden _must_ be sacrificed,” he said, as if she didn’t know, as if she couldn’t remember the terrible moment that Riordan had told them, and the icy claw of fear that had grasped her heart at the thought of Alistair dying. “But here the two of you are. We know Riordan wounded the Archdemon, crippled it. But he died before dealing the final blow.

“How. Are You. Both. Here?”

She couldn’t breathe.

And then there was a shouting from the courtyard.

“GIVE HIM BACK!”

Kivral’d never heard Anders _roar_ before, a full-throated explosion of fear-tinged anger. And when she ran out into the courtyard, she could see why:

One of the Weisshaupt Wardens had Ser Pounce-a-lot by the scruff of his neck while the other two laughed. The kitten was yowling, hissing and spitting, writhing around to try to get his claws into the arm of the human holding him like this. The workers had stopped, watching the spectacle in horror.

One of the laughing Wardens was backing up as a throwing dagger appeared in his hand. “Oy, try to keep it still!”

“If you can’t hit a moving target, what good’re you?” one of the others taunted him.

A dagger was in her own hand, but she never got the chance to throw it.

The man with the throwing daggers screamed as he caught on fire. Anders hadn’t even _moved_ , hadn’t drawn his staff, hadn’t made a sound. But she knew it was him, even without hearing Velanna’s surprised exclamation in Elvish behind her.

One of the ‘Wardens’ started trying to put his friend out, and the one holding Ser Pounce-a-lot dropped the kitten. He landed hard, but he seemed well enough to run off and hide, the poor thing. The Warden drew his sword and advanced on Anders.

…until he sprouted a dagger in his hand.

“SONUVA- …!” The sword clattered to the cobblestones.

Warden-Commander Kivral Mahariel stormed past Anders and straight up to the now-wounded Warden. “What do you think you were doing?”

“Just havin’ a bit of fun!” he declared with a scowl.

She yanked her dagger out of his hand. “By threatening to kill a defenseless animal?” she asked icily. The screams of the still flaming man rent the air and she barked an order: “PUT HIM OUT ALREADY.”

He was immediately frozen in place – literally. He couldn’t move, likely couldn’t breathe like that… but at least he wasn’t screaming.

“Thank you.” She turned back to the shem in front of her and looked him in his one good eye. “Explain yourself.”

“It’s a cat,” he said, spitting at the ground. “Who cares?”

“ _I_ care,” she informed him. “I gave Anders that kitten. He makes him happy.”

“It makes him _soft_ ,” the Warden told her.

She turned around, sought out First Warden Ademar. He was lurking in the doorway, watching. “Well?” she asked him.

“Well what?” the man who was supposed to be in charge of all Wardens asked.

“Are you not going to punish this man?”

“I’ll have words with him later,” he assured her.

“Words?” she asked, eyebrows rising. “You’re just going to scold him like a child late for supper?”

“It’s a _cat_ ,” Ademar repeated. “It’s hardly worth all of this trouble.”

“Trouble _your men_ started.”

“Those men are your fellow Wardens,” he pointed out, his tone even. He wasn’t even trying to stay calm. He _was_ calm. It didn’t bother him. At all.

And in that moment, she became calm as well. A terrible sort of calm, the kind just before the worst of the storms blew in and knocked down the pens, terrified the halla, and rocked the aravels ‘til they near tipped over.

“Not anymore they aren’t,” she hissed.

“What was that?” He stood up straight, eyeing her warily.

“These Men,” she spat, enunciating each word clearly, “are NOT my fellows in ANYTHING.”

Ademar narrowed his eyes. “You have no say over whether or not they stay in the Wardens.”

“I have command of the Wardens of Ferelden,” she said, “and we will _not_ associate with these **beasts**. _Fenedhis lasa,_ calling them ‘beasts’ is an insult to every bear and rabid wolf!” She stormed up to Ademar and looked up into his eyes.

“The Grey Wardens of Ferelden are no longer under the command of Weisshaupt Fortress.”

He stared at her. “You can’t…”

“I. Just. DID. I _revoke_ the welcome extended to you and your heartless brethren. Get the _FUCK_ out of my arling and my country before I have you _chased_ out.”

Ademar tried to stare her down still, thinking he had the advantage of being bigger, taller, stronger. She kept her gaze locked on his.

“GO,” she repeated. “ _NOW_.”

And she felt the power shift. Anders came up to stand behind her. Then Velanna. Alistair’s arrival was announced by the stink of him, already sweaty from the work he’d been doing. Nate and Sigrun melted out of the shadows behind the three Wardens and Oghren announced his presence behind Ademar with the glint of his sword and a wicked grin. Sekh’s growl was heard before the mabari came into the light.

“You’ll regret this,” Ademar promised her.

“Chalk it up to Ferelden stubbornness,” she told him. He turned on his heel and stormed off towards his room. “AND TAKE WOOLSEY WITH YOU!” she called after him. Then, in a fit of mercy, she ordered, “Anders, unfreeze the man.”

“Technically, _I_ didn’t freeze him,” he said, smile audible in his voice. “And if you let me unfreeze him, he’ll be back on fire again.”

“Fine. Alistair? Move him out into the sunlight. Maybe he’ll melt in time and if not? Well, they can just load him up into their wagons as is and thaw him out on the road.”

He obeyed.

As the scene broke up, Garevel appeared. “I have the servants already packing our former guests’ things.”

“Thank you, Garevel. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a letter to write to the queen. I’m sure she’ll want to know about this.”

“Are the Wardens of Ferelden pledging their loyalty to the throne then?” he asked.

She thought about that and then shook her head slowly. “No. Not to the throne: to the country, and to _everyone_ who lives here, whether they be human, elf, or dwarf, noble or commoner, priest or mage. We will protect Ferelden from the darkspawn. We will welcome _visiting_ Wardens, but we will not bow to them.”

“Very good. Perhaps a copy of that should go along with Ademar, then?”

She snorted. “Assuming he doesn’t burn it, absolutely. We’ll have to send messengers to Orlais, the Free Marches, Antiva, all over Thedas.”

He nodded. “I’ll arrange for messengers,” and then he left.

Kivral looked to the Wardens of Ferelden. “Thank you, my friends.” She couldn’t help smiling.

“We stand with _you_ , Kiv,” Nate said. “No one else.”

Velanna was releasing Ser Pounce-a-lot back to Anders’s care; apparently the kitten had fled to her in his fright. “I signed on to fight with _you_. As if I would take orders from some _fenedhin shemlen._ ”

“Thank you for coming to our rescue,” Anders said, scritching his kitty behind the ears.

“Seems to me you had it covered,” Sigrun pointed out, fanning the air. “Still smells like burnt asshole over here.”

“Do I want to know how you know what ‘burnt asshole’ smells like?” Alistair asked, rejoining them.

“I’d sure like to know!” Oghren declared.

Everyone laughed and the tension eased.

Alistair’s hand slid around her waist. “We’re with you, love. For as long as we have.” He pressed a kiss to her temple.

The sweetness lasted until Oghren demanded, “I say we celebrate throwing ‘em out!”

Sigrun seconded that quickly, and a full chorus of the few Wardens of Ferelden agreed.

“Well, we _were_ going to have a farewell feast for them,” Kivral pointed out. “Shame to waste all that food and drink.”

“Good-bye and good riddance!” Anders shouted.

They laughed again and, for the first time in what seemed like _ages_ , since long before the ‘First Warden’s’ arrival, she felt truly at home again.

She looked to Alistair. “Would Duncan still be proud of me for _this_?”

He hesitated, then admitted, “I’m honestly not sure. But… I think so. For standing up for your men, for making a difficult decision. He’d also remind you that _you’re_ in charge now, not him.

“These are _your_ Wardens, Kivral.”

He pulled away to salute her, and the others did the same. And she realized: for someone who didn’t want power, she now had an awful lot of it. She looked around at the Wardens, _her_ Wardens. There were still problems she had to solve, issues to address. But those could wait. For a little while, at least.


End file.
